The Once and Future Queen
by afriendtosell
Summary: Before Finn the Human, four others pledged to safeguard the Candy Kingdom. These are the events that brought them together, and the adventure that tore them apart. [ Pre-Canon][Eventual Sugarless Gum]
1. Chapter 1

**One.**

She'd gone to bed counting Pi to the hundredth decimal, and awoke staring at the edge of a knife.

Her first thought was how ludicrous it all seemed. The man hung from her ceiling by a thin length of rope, his dagger a fixed point in her vision that caught moonlight and reflected it at odd, warped angles. Though she could not spy the rest of him in the dark, a pungent odor of fetid meat and moist woodland clung to him tighter than any cloak ever would.

She twisted left before the dagger found her neck, the blade slicing into her pillow to scatter feathers and satin everywhere. The assassin let out a series of clicks—another clue—and then detached itself from the thread keeping it aloft. When it moved, it did so in jerking, constrained spasms, as though something were keeping it from achieving its full range of motion.

It used an "arm" to support itself, the length of the appendage nearly double that of its thin body or the legs dangling beneath it. When seven more "arms" unfurled from its back, Bonnibel knew exactly who had sent the creature—knew and cursed, for she realized in that instant that the Spider King no longer held any pretense of suing for peace with her father's kingdom.

"It is most unwise of you to do this," she said as the creature dropped from the eaves. Its mandibles clicked a hollow, clipped beat as it advanced upon her. "Turn back now, good spider-ser—leave before the guard arrive! Your life is not yet bubkes."

_"Leave,"_ it echoed: its voice a mismatched combination of low, rumbling baritone layered over rapid clicks and clacks. "_Leave_…" it repeated, as if tasting the word.

A glob of something viscous fell from its jaw and splattered on the ground, hissing as it melted the carpeting, the hardwood floor beneath. Bonnibel stood her ground

"…_No_."

Her lip curled. "You are not the first assassin I've survived, you know."

"_But, my delectable Princess…_" it stepped into the moonlight, its nine red eyes glinting like rubies. _"I will certainly be the last._"

"The man sent by the Fire Kingdom threatened as much, I'll have you know," she calmly replied with only the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice. "A bucket of water proved his hypothesis wrong."

What she had thought the creature's body now hung in the air as though weightless: a vaguely humanoid pendulum, its neck growing into the thorax of the large huntsman spider that was its skull. It wore enough clothing to avoid immodesty, a cloak draped over the majority of its arachnoid bits, with light leather armor decorating its human portion. Bonnibel could not gauge where it would come at her from, each of its eight legs posed a potential threat. Moreover, without a weapon she had no way to even the playing field.

"_I taste your fear,_" it stated, its mandibles clicking in what Bonnibel could only take as a threatening gesture. "_Exquisite_."

She squared herself as her mother had taught her: one leg back, eyes to her opponent's waist, her hands raised and ready at her sides.

"Bring it."

It surged toward her, ink spilt over parchment, a flood of chitinous legs and shadows. Its every movement coursed with the fluid, unnatural grace of an apex predator: one moment vertical, the next horizontal; crawling alongside the wall, the ceiling, both at once; then back to the floor and closer than sin—too close, so close she could not catch her breath. Its path held neither rhyme nor reason, as if achieving pure, erratic momentum were its only goal.

_Where_—she could not tell where its attacks would come from. Instinct, more than anything else, kept her backpedaling away from its every mad slash, from every thrust and jab and rake. It wasn't until one the creatures legs shattered her vanity that she realized its grim purpose. Her back hit the corner wall hard enough to knock the wind from her, the assassin pausing its charge mere feet from where she stopped.

"_Soon, soon…Nowhere to run: dead in her castle, and dead to the world…"_ it sang, its eight-fold eyes perfectly tracking her feeble attempts at escape. It knew she had nowhere left to run; the thing had her cornered, each of its limbs poised to strike at her from any angle she could find.

"This isn't a fairytale!" she shouted, pressing back into the wall behind her to avoid a cut aimed at her belly. "The concept might be too advanced for you, so let me gave you a demonstration!" Though the assassin cornered her, Bonnibel was nothing if not attentive. When it attempted a stab, she deftly moved out of the way, its arm slicing into the concrete behind her.

"You require ample space to move as quickly as you do," she explained, only the tiniest bit smug, "You're all moving parts—organic machinery." The space between the two remained too short for the creature to do anything but attempt to box her in—with such long limbs, it could no longer stab at her: only cut and grapple. "There isn't enough of you to keep me in one place and keep up your assault."

"_You've nowhere to run_," it hissed, "_No insect escapes the spider's web_."

"Last I checked," she answered, steeling herself; "Bubblegum makes _everything_ stick."

It was a stupid, illogical thing to do—in any other circumstance, it would have been suicide. _But… desperate times_, she thought, bracing herself against the wall before _pushing_ off toward her attacker's midsection as hard as she could. Years of racing Lady Rainicorn through the castle gave her speed enough to avoid the assassin's frantic attempts to stop her—ha!—while adrenaline did the rest, the two of them tumbling toward the ground in a heap of flailing limbs.

As they dropped, the princess reached for the hand she believed still held the assassin's dagger. Pain immediately lanced up her arm for her trouble; she misjudged how sharp the spider's natural armor was, the distraction just enough to render her tragically unprepared to meet carpeting and floorboard. The pair landed with a soft, muffled _whump_, Bonnibel breathless and electric, the intimacy of how close they now were making her every hair stand on end, her stomach churn, and heave. This close, the pungent stench of rotten meat on its breath was nearly overpowering.

_What next, what do I—_she felt, rather than saw one of the creature's legs flex at her side, its intent clear as the malice in its gaze. _Oh geez, what in Glob am I even going to—_

It twitched and she kneed it in the groin, once and then again, almost by reflex. The thing snarled in response and attempted to shove her away, seemingly unphased. Another quick strike dispelled the perception; it recoiled visibly, hissing in pain as something metallic fell and clattered to floor, somehow close but distant in the dark. Bonnibel reached for it instead of continuing her assault, hoping beyond hope that the spider would remain temporarily stunned.

It did not.

They tumbled for purchase, rolling across the carpet, both princess and assassin attempting to grab whatever had fallen as drowning men would a lifeline. Bonnibel ignored the spider's other legs as they twisted and thrashed around her, their sharp barbs nicking her skin wherever they did not tear into her nightgown, her hair, the floor. Neither outmaneuvered the other; again and again, the princess felt her nails _barely_ scrape metal, her fingers _barely_ wrap around the leather of a hilt before some errant limb would push it from her grasp, scattering her hope across the carpet.

Distantly, she wondered why the spider did not simply tear her limb from limb—it seemed the easier course by far. Messy, but simple. And then, somewhere between crawling over its body; over the mad staccato of its clicking mandibles, her floundering fingers, its hissing and snarling and frantic, hurried struggling: she heard it. She _felt_ it; her fingers closed around the dagger, Bonnibel scrambling to take it for her own, and—

The panic that simmered just under her skin boiled over, metal sliding through rough chitin and soft flesh with a final, muted _thunk_. The spider gasped; one single intake of breath before it went limp, boneless and still.

The princess felt a black pleasure, a release, in the sound. It meant immediate safety, it meant she had survived another attempt on her life—triumphed, even.

_Killed_, she would not admit.

"Princess!"

Peppermint Butler found her before the guard, bursting through the doubled-doors leading to her room with a surprising amount of force. She thought it fascinating how quickly things reversed, how easily one moment sublimated into the next; Peppermint appeared at her side with swiftness few outside the royal family ever observed, handkerchief in hand as though Bonnibel had spilled anything but blood.

"Princess, we must—oh! _Oh!_ You've been injured; oh my!" Despite herself, Peppermint's excitement almost made Bonnibel laugh. "Can you stand?" he asked, fretting this way and that. "Are you bleeding? Did the blackguard—My Princess, are they still here?" he whirled then, a thin dirk appearing in hand, unsheathed from only Glob-knew-where, "Out with you if ye remain, rogue!"

_If only we had an army of him_, Bonnibel thought idly, ruminating briefly on how sluggish the Banana Guard room remained silent, the air calm. The spider lay where it had fallen, now seated, its back propped by the edge of her bed. Its utter stillness unnerved Bonnibel—only moments ago, it had been alive and well: a sentient being with thoughts, opinions, and cause. Now, blood slowly pooled around its knees, the smell of copper and feces a stark contrast to the crisp, minty perfume Peppermint Butler trailed wherever he went.

"Peace, Peppermint…" Bonnibel laid her hand on his shoulder, the rotund candy turning slightly to glance up at her, all business. "I think—I think the worst has passed. We won't be seeing any more violence tonight."

His eyes looked this way and that, still scanning the room for threats. After a fashion, he relaxed all at once, sheathing his blade with a small sigh. Bonnibel still wondered where he hid the thing. "You may never be too cautious, princess. It seems the castle is not as safe as we once believed," he walked over to the fallen creature, stopping just short of where it lay. "The creature did not bite you, did it?"

"I am uninjured," Bonnibel shook her head, forcing a smile. "Waaaay grody, though—who knew an arachnid of that size would contain so much fluid?"

Peppermint Butler looked at the assassin as though searching for something, though Bonnibel could not guess what. "—Arachnid filth," he spat, before turning back to the princess, apparently satisfied. "There'll be no calming your father once he sees this, you mark my words."

Bonnibel bit the inside of her lip. _If_ _he sees_, she thought.

"Princess?"

_Dangit, did I say that out loud?_ She waved him off, feigning disinterest. "It's nothing, Pebs. Just processing."

Peppermint Butler opened his mouth—most likely to protest, Bonnibel thought—before stopping himself, his eyes slowly growing wide. "Surely you do not mean to—"

She sighed inwardly; Peppermint's mannerisms made it hard to remember how sharp he was. "I _mean_ to take a shower and clean myself," she explained, brushing hair from her face, sounding put-upon on purpose, "What happens afterward is another matter entirely."

The mint clucked his tongue at her, _tut-tut-tutting_ on the approach. "Oh, nonononono—that simply will not do, my Princess. You father would smash me for a traitor," he explained, climbing atop the desk Bonnibel needed to pass to reach the bath. "Now, hold still: 'tis a small matter, hardly worth the trouble, but a butler's work is never done."

"Yo, Pebbs; what the cabbage…!?" she deftly stepped out of his reach. "As I _just_ told you: _I'm fine_."

"Come now, Princess…The two of us are the only candy in the room, no?" his tone made the princess' eye twitch; even if his silly little butler outfit made him look cute, she hated condescension. From anyone. "While I may understand the…_necessity_ of a strong front, I hardly believe now is the time for theatre."

"Congratulations, you've completely lost me.," Bonnibel replied, crossing her arms. "Are you done being weird, now? The guard are going to be here any minute and I want to—"

"Your neck, your Highness." he finally explained, gesturing upward, "You're bleeding."

_"_I_—" _at his silent urging, she began to feel at her throat until her fingers found a warm trail of—_oh_. She _was_ injured-. _Math_. "Well…Huh. I suppose I was. Fancy that."

Peppermint nodded, clapping his hands together with a smile. "Yes, yes; now if you'll let me—"

"All the more reason to wash up!" Bonnibel exclaimed, lightly pounding the bottom of her fist into her open palm before heading back to the bath. "Now, if you'll excuse me—cleanliness awaits!"

"P-princess…! You must allow me to inspect your wound," Peppermint Butler stammered, his shoes thumping a busy tempo as he hurried after her. "Glob knows what the fiend could have coated his weapon with! It's of utmost importance that we—"

_"Peppermint,"_ she said, adopting the toneless her father used to make visiting heads of state rethink foreign policy. "Could you do me the favor of…tidying this up while I'm gone?"

He stopped in front of her and stood his ground, face a mask of worry. If he understood the implication, she did not know; his face could be unreadable when he felt like it.

"I'm fine Pebbs," she smiled, knowing it wouldn't reach her ears. "You've no need to worry—we're made of sterner stuff, us Bubblegums!"

"Princess, I must insist," he repeated, sterner this time. "Stay."

Footsteps echoed from the bottom of her tower. There were the guards, finally. Unfortunately.

"…Pebbs, please," she asked, feeling the command in her tone slightly wane. There wasn't going to be enough time. "Just—let me do the thing, okay?"

Peppermint Butler's white eyes briefly held at her face before darting to the door of her room. Bonnibel knew that he understood the gravity of the situation, of what such a brazen attack on the Princess meant to the Candy Kingdom and its allies. More than that, she knew they could not afford an impasse: the Guard and her father would arrive sooner rather than later. Either the body disappeared as the others had, forestalling war, or—

"As you wish, my Princess. The deed shall be done." Peppermint Butler answered, bowing lightly before making his way to where the assassin lay.

Bonnibel curtsied before closing the door to the bathroom, leaving it open just enough to allow her a protracted view of her bedroom. With any luck, she could finish washing herself and help dispose the body before the guard arrived. Once she reached the sink, she immediately set about cleaning herself with a wet washcloth: face first, then hands, forearms, and shoulders. Her hair took longest: viscous as it was, she had to take several moments underneath the showerhead to rinse it out completely. She'd never be able to fix the nightgown in time—if ever, dang—so off it went after she toweled off, traded for a bathrobe she hadn't even seen Peppermint Butler hang up for her.

By the time she finished, Bonnibel could discern two different sets of footsteps pound up the stairs—the guard had stopped to rouse her father, it seemed.

"Oh Glob, he's always gotta put his nose in everything doesn't he?" she whined, hastily pulling on the robe as she exited the bath. "We have to hurry: the Guard will be all business if dad's around."

"Time is but a figment of the imagination, Princess. No matter the obstacle, a butler is always precisely where need be." Peppermint Butler replied, a tint of laugher in his voice. In the dark of her room, she could barely make out his round form. "Now come: this skullduggery may require a touch of, hmm—_finesse_. Yes, that's the word."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Bonnibel found herself smiling. Time and again, the little mint continued to prove himself invaluable: after dealing with the first assassination attempt herself, it had been Peppermint who counseled her on how best to hide numbers three through four. "You've kind of got a knack for this," she commented idly, beginning to help him lift the spider from the floor. "It almost frightens me to think of what work you _used_ to busy yourself with before becoming a butler."

Peppermint laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he attempted to take the brunt of the spider's weight on onto his tiny frame—again, his physical abilities surprised Bonnibel. "A tale for another time, perhaps," he answered, surprisingly cryptic. "We've the peace of a Kingdom to uphold."

"That we do." She pushed the spider's frame this way and that, attempting to settle it in place. Despite her inability to keep the thing straight, Peppermint never faltered. "I'll have to thank him come morning—father, I mean," she commented aloud, slowly beginning to help lift the spider toward the window. "His decision to install you as my aide was most wise."

"A fair bit _too_ wise, I should think." The king's voice rang out behind her, baritone and imperious: a rumble of stone in the dark. "That's my problem, though: always committing one-hundred percent," he laughed, the floor shuddering, "Your mother hates it, you know."

Bonnibel froze in her tracks. In the dim light of the moon, her father cut a terrifying figure. Tall as mountain, almost impossibly broad: he seemed more a jawbreaker carved into the shape of a man, every inch of him corded thick with muscle and sinew. Despite the late hour, not a fraction of him stood out of place or bedraggled, as though the very word were an alien concept to him. He wore his apple red hair short, cropped close around the ear, and boasted a full beard that nearly hid him mouth from sight. His crown—a simple thing, tri-pointed and steel—rested atop his head, centered perfectly, while the silk tunic and shorts he wore looked as though they had never held a wrinkle in their life. Sword at his side, King Wrigley held himself as was befitting a monarch: towering over the armored knights on either side of him, his back ramrod straight, his lips a thin line; neither frowning nor smiling in earnest.

That worried her most. _Whelp. This is…certainly problematic_ she thought, the pit in her stomach now a chasm. _He—he is _definitely_ going to tell mom about this._ "…Uh, so. Hey dad," the princess eventually ventured, timidly waving at her father with one hand, "Sup?"

Her father advanced on them with long, casual strides. Peppermint Butler immediately let go of the body and fell to one knee, the guard fanning out in formation behind the king. When he came to a stop, he merely looked down at the pair of conspirators, his green eyes hard as rock candy, his gaze searching. Her father's face reflected years long spent leading men from the front lines: cracked and scarred, smile and laugh lines nearly indistinguishable from old wounds. Bonnibel focused intently on the thin, vertical scar bisecting his nose, long since experienced in looking at him without really _looking_. She could still salvage this.

"Sup," the king echoed back, the ghost of a smile on his splintered face, his arms crossed at his chest. "I think I should be asking that, o-daughter mine."

She dropped the chitinous arm in her hands, mindful of its spines, her mind running roughshod through every strategy, every idea she had dreamed up to bypass this particular contingency. It was yet too soon for her father to become involved in her plan to save the Kingdom.

"…It was an accident," she lied.

"An accident," the king repeated, "My daughter, almost taken from me by some murderer, and she calls it—" rage threaded through his voice, iron-hot, an ember threatening to turn wildfire before he caught himself and squelched it. "An _accident_, and my entire world—" the king fell to his knees and suddenly drew his daughter to his chest, nearly crushing her in an embrace. "Oh Bonnibel, my child…You—thank Grob that you're—you aren't hurt, are you?"

Bonnibel shook her head, attempting in vain to push herself toward freedom and oxygen. "I'm—geez, dad, I can't breathe! Could ya let me go?" He always overreacted like this. "Peppermint already saved me once tonight; I'd rather his valiant efforts not go in vain."

The king held her at arm's length, his face a mask of worry. "The whoreson didn't cut you, did he? You aren't feeling flush?" he felt at her head, hand massive and solid against her skin, "Tell me everything that happened, please—and Peppermint!" the round candy nearly leapt to his feet, all business. "Get up, you minty layabout! Up with you! Tend to the safety of the Queen and check the castle grounds; I'll not have another would-be assassin endanger my family this night!"

Peppermint Butler bowed at the hip then sped toward the guard as though possessed, a blur of red and white. "You heard your king, you worthless dogs—look alive! Move, move!" the Banana Guard jostled into ranks, quickly slipping out the door and down the stairs as Peppermint berated them from behind. "Sweep the castle floor by floor! Release the hounds! No candy enters or leaves this kingdom until every stone is overturned!"

King Wrigley grinned as the lot of them emptied out the room, his harsh mien easing back to the warm, comforting smile Bonnibel knew belonged only to his daughter and his queen. When their footsteps became echoes, only her father and the Captain of the Guard remained. Bonnibel would not relax, however—now came the difficult part.

"…An accident, eh?" the king surveyed the room, pacing here and there, his face still a mask of pleasant indifference, "Seems we've had quite a few of those, as of late—almost ironic, really," idle; and then, after circling her bed: "Considering all the long talks I've had to sit through recently."

The princess bit the inside of her cheek. "I admit that it seems—far-fetched, yes. Completely. However, I have cause to believe it the truth," the king perked an eyebrow. She continued: "The assassin looked rather surprised when it realized who I am."

_Surprised_, she thought. That was one way to put it.

"Hrm—so you spoke to the thing?" the king pressed, before gesturing to the window with his chin. "Would you shut that window, Captain? The draft is unbearable."

"Well, it…" Bonnibel sighed, feigning embarrassment. "_I_ left the window open, Captain, allow me to—I know, I know!" she waved off her father's judgmental gaze as she broke away from him, mind running at a mile a minute. She snuck a quick look at the castle's courtyard before closing the window. "I realize how many times you've reminded me to keep it closed. The lesson is not lost on me."

"Thirty-seven," the king answered.

"Yes, well—with the guard about, I thought myself _quite_ safe in my own household." Bonnibel immediately regretted the bite in her voice, catching the Guard grimacing out of the corner of her eye. "Oh…I-I apologize, Captain. The hour is late; I realize your men do as best they can to safeguard the kingdom."

The banana bowed lightly, a brief inclination of its head. "The culprit must have slipped past the castle walls during a shift in the watch," he explained, "I'll have our sharpest-eyed replace whoever was on duty."

The King nodded. "And were there others?"

"Not that I saw, no. Spiders tend to avoiding traveling in groups." Bonnibel took a seat on the lip of the windowsill, crossing her legs, "Though I was admittedly rather preoccupied at the time—what, with Peppermint saving me from certain doom."

His laugh was a short one, hand ghosting the back of his neck. "Aye, aye; you are a daughter of Gumball at heart," the king replied, slowly pacing around the room a second time now that he had more room to do so, "Once the call to battle sounds, it's all our bloodline can do to stay in the here and now."

Briefly, Bonnibel thought of her Great Uncle. "…And, as I explained earlier: I believe you or mother were the original targets of the attack." She looked down toward the courtyard, scanning for movement. Pepperment's words still clung to her. "With so many of the guard at the base of the tower, and Lady patrolling the roof, it's only logical that someone unfamiliar with the castle would target this room."

"Aye, that you did say," the king nodded, halting just short of the spider's corpse, this time. He frowned. "Though…it doesn't quite explain what you and Peppermint had in mind for the carcass."

Shoot. She hadn't come up with a reason for that, yet. "I—"

The king held up his hand, imperious. Bonnibel fought the urge to blow him a raspberry, a habit of her youth. "On second thought, it can wait. Just—" he gestured for the captain to come near, eyes glued to the spider. "So long as it will not lead another lemony abomination, we can discuss it in the morning."

Bonnibel opened her mouth to reply, but found nothing immediately wrong with the reprieve. Lemongrab was a ghost she would never shake, it seemed—present usefulness notwithstanding. "Nothing so…_aggravating_, no." she explained, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a soft smile, "Glob—could you even imagine?"

"I'd much rather not," her father laughed—in earnest this time—before signaling the Captain to come near. "Now, If you would, Captain?" he gestured to the corpse, face scrunching up in distaste, "Bonnibel may be made of sterner stuff, but I find this stench unbearable."

The Captain saluted, eyes briefly flickering to Bonnibel before he bent down and hoisted the spider over his shoulder. King Wrigley aided the banana in carrying the corpse of the spider to the top of the stairs, whereupon the two exchanged words Bonnibel could not hear—orders to keep an eye on her, no doubt. When he returned, Bonnibel stood to her feet. "Father, while I…appreciate your concern, there's no need to order the guard to keep watch—I assure you: this was the first creature to make an attempt on my life."

"And last, by my marker," the king replied, dusting his hands on return. "First and _last_."

Bonnibel sighed, exasperated. "_Father_."

The king held up his hand again. "Whatever you deign necessary to hide from me, from the Kingdom, your people, as though it were another one of your failed experiments…That choice is yours to make, my daughter, and yours alone," Her father waited until his footsteps vanished from hearing before continuing. "I am an understanding man. I was once Prince, just as you are Princess now. As was your mother, in her time," he strode over toward Bonnibel and knelt before her, taking her slender hands in his own. "We are a strong-minded family—too resolute in our rule, some would say. But do not mistake a reliance on family as weakness. You are not in this alone."

_And a gilded cage is still a cage_, she thought, saying nothing. Her father regarded her in silence, eyes searching for….something. Bonnibel did not know.

He sighed, after a fashion.

"Simply…remember that you are the only heir left to this kingdom." The king softly ran his thumb across his daughter's hand, swallowing hard before continuing, "More importantly, you are my daughter: my own flesh and syrup," he pressed her fingertips to his forehead and then looked up, searching for Bonnibel's eyes, "You must realize that I will do whatever it is in my power to keep you safe."

"Father, I…" she shook her head, steeling herself. "You've no cause to worry, I assure you."

The king said nothing, quiet in the pellucid light of the moon. And then: "…Truly?"

Bonnibel nodded, forcing a smile. "Truly."

"Then I place my faith in your capable hands, my daughter," She chuckled, and before Bonnibel knew what had happened, she found herself airborne, hoisted onto the king's shoulders in one fell swoop. "Tonight, however, your safety is my primary concern!"

"Woah…! F-father, I—this is highly unnecessary!" she cried, struggling half-heartedly to escape. "As I said earlier to Peppermint, I am uninjured! Let me down! _Dad!_"

The king laughed, ducking low for a moment to square away his daughter properly atop his shoulders. "This may be the first assassin by your reckoning, my daughter," he answered, starting out of the room despite Bonnibel—playfully—hitting him on the head. "But, as Grob as my witness, it will be the_ last_ by mine!"

"_Dad_, holy cow! This is so embarrassing! Stopit!"

"I respect your right to privacy, Bonnibel, but live it with the shame!" the king laughed again, already taking the stairs leading down from Bonnibel's room two at a time, every landing a thunderous sound that echoed through her tower. "Now come on," he continued, "You'll be sleeping with your mother and me tonight—no complaining!"

And the absurdity of the situation, of the grim warrior-king Wrigley Bubblegum skipping down the ivory stairs with a grumpy eighteen-year-old princess in tow, made Bonnibel laugh hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

_Hopefully_, she thought, as her father laughed with her, _these days of peace will outlast us_.

_Hopefully, _she thought later, when her mother later embraced her tight, _I can prevent father from dragging our kingdom into war._

_Hopefully_, she thought again, before sleep claimed her. _What a terribly promising word._


	2. Chapter 2

**Two.**

A history lesson.

Before the Candy Kingdom, there was man and an idea.

* * *

Many were they that laid claim to the sundry Lands of Ooo, first and last refuge of those who had survived the Great Mushroom War. There were those who had conquered, who warred long and bloody to secure their right to rule—wild beasts with minds spoiled for fire and industry, who raged until none stood to oppose them, such as the Goblins or Fire Elementals. Others merely survived the aftermath, carving out homes for themselves where war would not find them—the thieves in their deserts, the Rainicorns in their clouds, entire species hidden away beneath secret or magic spell.

The Candy Kingdom itself stood at the very heart of Ooo, its House of Bubblegum one of the eldest and most feared. In the years that followed the Mushroom War, where all manner of the strange and impossible arose as progeny to cataclysm: it was they who prospered. That triumphed. That became as _rock_ against the disparate lordlings and tribesmen seeking power through dominion.

For a time, of course.

Assassinations amongst the nobility weren't rare by any stretch of imagination-at age eighteen, her father had weathered four, her mother nearly a dozen. Bonnibel herself never thought much of the practice despite her obvious involvement; it seemed a tool for the profoundly lazy, an act of an impatient warmonger than one seeking to heal a troubled kingdom. The sheer number of attempts on her own life, however—five now, counting the previous night's affair—made the princess anxious. With talks of peace barely cresting the horizon, the last thing any pacifist in Ooo hope for was a return to arms.

It was these dark thoughts that chased Bonnibel from sleep early the next morning, anxiety worrying her all throughout breakfast and well into her morning lessons.

"...Your highness?"

She blinked, suddenly realizing where her thoughts had taken her. The Banana Guard in front of the gate leading into the castle garden wore an expression of obvious worry, head tilted to the side just so. 'You look as though you haven't had any sleep,' his face said, 'As though you haven't gotten sleep for months.'

"Ah-" she waved the look aside, briefly flashing a smile. "I am simply running a complex mental simulation of an ongoing experiment of mine," she lied, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. "You needn't worry."

The guard nodded, obviously a bit perplexed-they weren't hired for their mental faculties, after all. "Oh, well...so long as you're healthy, your Highness. With all the ruckus that happened last night..." he trailed off momentarily, gaze cast down to the floor in what Bonnibel could only gather to be shame.

The princess frowned; before she could reply, however, the yellow fruit seemingly rallied and saluted her with gusto. "Worry not Princess!" the Guard shouted, his enthusiasm washing over Bonnibel as though it were an almost physical thing. "The Banana Guard will not falter in their duty a second time! Nor a third!"

She giggled at the outburst, and reached out to lay a gentle hand on the shoulder of the guard. "You have my faith, Guardsman. And my thanks," withdrawing her hand, she curtsied to him, and found herself incapable of keeping a smile off her face. "Now, if you would excuse me?"

Blushing, the Guard once more saluted her before reaching over to open the gate. "Ah, yes! Of course; where is my head even? The Queen has been expecting you, and here I am taking up your precious time."

'_—A sentence I never tire of hearing_.' The princess withheld a sigh. "Thank you for your concern, Guardsman, but I am not _so_ bound to her schedule. I will return once my mother and I have finished."

The Banana nodded before offering the princess a thumb's up. "Good luck, your highness."

'_And that would be phrase number two_.'

He tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face. "Did you say something?"

"Mm?" she gave a smile, internally admonishing herself for thinking aloud. "Oh—nothing, nothing." Another curtsy, and then "Excuse me."

Bonnibel proceeded at a quick, even pace through the corridor beyond the gate. The entrance to the garden had been constructed to deter other candy from disturbing the queen: thick vines of salt-water taffy and sharp, hard candy flowers dominated the walls and ceiling, while a strong, acrid scent of citrus and artificial grape flavoring virtually clung to everything. Once she reached the end of the corridor, the princess stopped and allowed the garden to register her presence. When the slight buzz that soon filled the air abated, she continued—though not, of course, without petting one of the numerous, small red and white-spotted bulbs growing near the exit of the corridor.

'_Good boy.'_

It was only polite.

A high, ramparted wall of butterscotch encircled the ovular space beyond the corridor, an thicket of enormous candy cane trees outlining the garden proper. Sunlight crested the lip of the wall where the trees could not reach, falling through the canopy of their mint leaves in harsh, vibrant slats. Morning saw the garden awake with caution: tall lollipop sunflowers swayed lazily in the breeze while hundreds of hard candy flowers slowly began to unfurl their petals, hungry for their daily meal. Of particular note were the candy roses in the garden—a favorite of the queen, they threaded through the spaces where other plants had given ground, beautiful as they were suffocating.

'_So much space_ _wasted on so little,'_ Bonnibel quietly mused, lips a tight line as she walked through the garden. '_And so little given such importance—I'll never understand it.'_

She paused at one of the larger specimens and gave it an experimental caress, wary of the sharp, jagged thorns along its stalk. The yet-blossomed flower easily gave way to her invading fingers, its rigid, hard candy petals rippling around her fingertips as she pushed them apart. No other candy in the Kingdom could morph in such a way—would never achieve the feat, Bonnibel bitterly reminded herself, for the queen loved her garden as fiercely as she protected it from harm.

'—_you could do so much for the kingdom,_" she thought, the flower nearly warping around her knuckles as her fingers delved ever deeper. '_Open so many avenues of research with just the smallest sacrifice…_'

The sound of shears cutting through taffy pulled the princess from her thoughts.

"Are you familiar with the concept of 'dead-heading,' Bonnibel?" a voice called out soon after, even and professional.

Startled, Bonnibel's fingers snagged somewhere inside the folds of the flower, holding fast despite a short burst of rather frantic struggling. Her mother—still somehow out of sight—continued as though her daughter had not just made a tragic, imminently-painful mistake. "A garden cannot grow if allowed to fester. Though beautiful in their own right, once an individual flower begins to deteriorate not only do its brothers and sisters suffer—the entire orchard now finds itself diminished."

With a small, unladylike grunt, Bonnibel tore her fingers free. A quick sweep of the surrounding area found her mother knelt down some ways away, her back to the princess as she tended to a small shrub beside her. Bonnibel counted herself lucky that her mother hadn't seen what she'd accidentally wrou—

"Replacing that flower will come out of your allowance, young lady."

_Whoops._ "—Well, we can fix that," Bonnibel quietly whispered to herself, wiping fingers slick with dew across her forearm in an effort to dry them. "And a good morning to you as well, mother."

"Good morning, my daughter—herbicidal as though it may be," the queen answered, a light tilt to her voice. She had yet to turn and face Bonnibel. "My, has the hour already grown so late?"

"Not terribly, though I apologize for—"

The queen held up a gloved hand, pointer finger to the sky. "Rule the first."

Bonnibel immediately curtsied, her form perfect from years of practice. "Manners," she replied, falling into the rhythm of her mother's beat; the queen walked through life of her own accord, and expected others to match her step of get out of the way. "We are mindful of others so that they may, in turn, be mindful of us."

The queen retracted her hand, rising to her feet with a fluid, liquid grace. Bonnibel and Wintergreen Bubblegum were a stark illustration in contrasts, two perfect reference points that differed as much as they paralleled the concept of the word _Monarch_. Her mother came from lands far beyond the reaches of the Candy Kingdom, her people the last vestiges of tribesmen whom had conquered the North long before it held the name of Ice. Where Bonnibel was tall, all long of limb and slender curves, her mother was compact, frame lean and well-muscled from a lifetime of battle. And though they shared the same facial features—full lips, a smooth, rounded face, button nose, and high cheekbones—her mother always seemed to hold an edge; a sharpness to her, barely contained but thrumming beneath her every move.

"Quite," the queen answered, smile tight. "And the respected monarch remains ever-loved by her people. A monument constructed to both support and define their kingdom." She dusted her gloved hands; by standing, she revealed the two épée stabbed into the ground in front of her. "—Rule the second?" pause, followed by: "If you'd please."

The "rules" were the bylaws of House Bubblegum, how their royalty were expected to govern and carry themselves on a day-to-day basis. Bonnibel knew them as well as she knew to draw breath—her mother made sure of it. "Do unto others...even though you may not agree with their methods," she began, slowly assuming a more defensive stance as Wintergreen turned to face her, "For the truth of leadership is that it is better to be loved than feared."

Wintergreen flashed a quick smile. "Good—"

"Though to be better armed helps to prove a point immensely."

The queen laughed, small and soundless. "Better. You've now officially remembered more about foreign policy than I ever did at your age." The tension drained out of Bonnibel's body nigh-instantly. Her mother held out her arms. "Now, come and greet your mother properly—missing both your father and yourself at the dining room table this morning has left me with the powerful urge to smother someone."

Bonnibel rolled her eyes. "_Mother_."

"A _powerful_ urge, young lady." the queen held her stance: arms wide, smile bright. "Now, as we've a lesson to continue…I trust you will you attempt to please an old woman? Just this once?"

The princess sighed. Kowtowing to her mother's demands would prove beneficial in the end, but...Bonnibel wasn't a child anymore. And either of her parents still viewing her as such at the moment was interfering with her plans.

"Wasn't sleeping together enough for the rest of the year, you think?" she questioned, arms crossed low at her waist. "I feel it's about time we treated each other as equals—princess-to-queen relationship notwithstanding."

Wintergreen looked less than amused; though it didn't show on her face, Bonnibel nearly felt the temperature plummet by several degrees. "Oh, is that so?"

_Oh oh_. "Yes—though, uh. I do _still _understand the importance of family bonding?" she asserted, trying not to look as though she was backtracking. An actual smile returned to her mother's face. "So. Um. I love you?"

'_Please work.'_

"Oh, Bon-bon…you know we respect your boundaries." the queen replied, crossing the distance between the two so she could embrace her daughter, a hand settling on the small of her back and her shoulder. "But, to us? You're never too old to receive unconditional love."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, mother, I—"

"—And a butt-kicking." The world shifted violently to the left, Bonnibel's vision blurring green-red-grey-caramel-white, black-and-blue electric before she could even let out a sound. When gravity reasserted itself, she found herself on her back, face-up, the sky a panorama of black dots and swimming colors. Though Bonnibel could not see her immediately, the sound of heeled boots gentling the cobblestone alerted her that the queen was nearby; the sensation of metal at her throat only confirmed the suspicion.

"Sloppy," the queen stated, the tip of the épée in her hands lightly pressing down into the hollow of Bonnibel's throat, "You would be dead had I been hired to kill you.

'_Math. Should've expected that_.' Bonnibel made a face. "Yes, well…nyeh."

"Eloquent as always. Today's lesson will seek to rectify that problem," the queen offered her daughter a hand, aiding her to her feet. "Though I'm of two minds regarding how to go about it—considering the events of last night, it seems only prudent."

Bonnibel dusted herself off, "—Oh? So you'll be skipping the attempted filicide?"

"Oh, heavens no," the queen laughed, casually withdrawing the second épée out of the ground as she walked by. "Your dueling form is still atrocious, as is your perception of common threat—you trust too easily, and think too much." she shook her head. "I've told you battle is not a competition of the mind."

"Yeah, I figured that was asking too much." Bonnibel sighed. "Any excuse to wail on your firstborn, right?"

Wintergreen shook her head, and then tossed the épée in her hand toward her daughter. "While I take no small satisfaction in proving to you that a ruler requires brains _and_ brawn, today's lesson is more of a necessity than a privilege." Wordless, the queen placed a hand behind her back, crouching lightly, almost unperceived, her épée held before her as though a natural extension of her outline. "Today, dear sweet child, we will review the finer points of…politick."

Bonnibel inwardly blanched at both the prospect and the pun. "Well…that's gross. I thought today was going to be productive," she picked up the épée and assumed the only stance she knew—one foot back, one foot forward, light on her feet. "There isn't any chance I can ask for a rain-check, right?"

The queen's answer came in the form of a straight thrust, quick and to the point. "Last night was a fluke—a random stroke of happenstance," though Bonnibel parried, the second and third thrusts came nigh-instantaneously, forcing her to give ground. "Keep your form. Had it been any other than Arack, the two of us would not be having this discussion right now."

"Gee, that's—_hhn_—that's inspiring."

"And the truth," Wintergreen answered, "The Spider King deals in absolutes-absolute war, absolute rule. You must prepare yourself for what is to come."

"Arack isn't the problem, mother. You and I both know that." Bonnibel countered with a low stab, aiming to gain back the ground she had lost. Her mother turned in response, her skirts a flurry of aqua and white that forced Bonnibel back to gain hold of the larger picture. "This attack was—_ha_—far too cunning, too planned." She leaned back to avoid a horizontal swipe. "Arack has never been patient enough to send a single, well-trained assassin in the dead of night—it isn't his modus."

The Spider King was, to put it bluntly: a moron. Like every other arachnid before him, Arack ruled through fear and outright bullying, his kingdom a haven for the brutish sort that saw outright conflict not a consequence of politics, but its end-goal. Bonnibel despised the man. As did her mother.

"Though it may not fall within his…limited sphere of influence," Wintergreen assented, still completely at ease: the perfect picture of a woman in her element. "Spiders are certainly not the only creatures adept in spinning webs." She flourished her weapon in a sideways figure eight, easily deflecting Bonnibel's attack. "Arack may simply be a proxy for another—a cat's paw aimed toward chaos."

Bonnibel continued to lose ground; though her mother refused to press her obvious advantage, the princess felt her defenses give way bit-by-bit, inch by inch. "Both the Fire Count—_ugh_—and the Ice Prince—Mother, that one hurt, _ow_—would have revealed their hands by now—oh, come on! Do you even _want_ an heir?—_Ugh_." Wintergreen had speared through Bonnibel's skirt, its tip catching lightly on the side of her hip. "—Meglomaniacal as they are, an alliance with Arack doesn't seem in their favor."

"Yes, but with Billy and your great uncle otherwise preoccupied, our Kingdom is all but poised for the conquering." The queen drifted right, weapon held low. Bonnibel took a step back to avoid the jab, but mistook the distance between them—the queen's movement was a feint, her épée darting toward her daughter's shoulder to score a thin cut. "We've little recourse than to consider all possible alliances—even those detrimental to our cause."

Bonnibel gritted her teeth, refusing to stumble. "—the conflict in the lowlands has gotten worse?"

"Though your great uncle Gumbald is a brilliant man, he is still only _one _man. And one man may only accomplish so much," the queen's attack lessened, a slight cloud growing over her face. "Since the extinction of humankind, it seems as though every canine in Ooo has an; hm—perhaps a _dogged _resistance against suing for peace?"

Bonnibel blanched. "That was uncalled for."

"I know," the cloud vanished, replaced again by Wintergreen's neutral smile. "He and Billy have kept the two sides from clashing as best they can, but…without willing mediators on either side, the Dogs and Raincorns continue to threaten war at every turn." The queen explained, sidestepping a flurry of jabs as though she and Bonnibel existed on two different planes of existence. "Attempting to get both sides to sign a pact of non-aggression seems too nly be forestalling the inevitable—I've heard from Billy that President Swiftpaw has already elected to use 'magic' dogs in an effort to defend their borders."

"Has there been any word of Lady's parents?" the word 'magic'—along with the queen's impressive usage of air-quotes mid-duel—had Bonnibel attempt to sweep her mother's leg out from under her, a quick stab-turned-feint allowing the princess enough space to hit the ground and kick out with her leg. "She worries, you know!"

"Sadly, no! Though it isn't for a lack of trying!" The queen leaped up, spinning to land beside Bonnibel—for her trouble, the princess received another cut, this time to her shoulder. "Gumbald nor Billy have been able to locate them."

Bonnibel's heart fell, clattering somewhere between her duodenum and stomach. Wintergreen pressed the momentary pause, sweeping her weapon in another figure-eight movement that this disarmed the princess and returned the tip of Wintergreen's épée to her daughter's throat.

She swallowed—more reflex than out of fear. "...This island is tearing itself apart, mother," she said, after it seemed Wintergreen would not move. "Do we honestly have time for this?"

Wintergeeen withdrew the tip of her blade. "Focus, daughter. The island will not find Armageddon under our watch." she kicked Bonnibel's épée back toward her, then stepped back and allowed the princess to retrieve it from the ground. "Our kingdom falling to chaos is all our enemies require to make their move—and all the more reason for our actions to remain decisive and swift."

'_Decisive and_...' Her wording gave the princess pause. She wasted no time in lunging after Wintergreen after grabbing her blade, the implications of her mother's words lighting a spark of anger deep within her breast. "—You would risk open war?"

The queen remained unfazed at Bonnibel's raised voice. "I'd hardly risk the horror," she explained, weaving around Bonnibel's assault to score another series of cuts and stabs on her daughter's dress. "Though our enemies would rather sup on our corpses, I've always chosen to err on the side of caution—your father as well, before taking his place as king. A monarch can no more govern ruins than might his people survive in them."

"—Rule the fourteenth. And perhaps the most important to keep in mind, here and now," twist, feint, parry; cut, block, and resume. She fell into the old pattern, the rhythm Wintergreen exuded simply by breathing. "What exactly are you suggesting, mother?"

The queen's form blurred, the wind in Bonnibel's lungs exiting in a rude display of abnegation toward her continued stability. She fell hard, stars appearing in her eyes when she attempted to fight back to her feet again.

A heeled boot pressing into her sternum kept Bonnibel grounded, however.

"Guardianship," the queen answered, face a cold mask of indifference. Bonnibel froze at the word; it was all her mother needed to score another light cut, this time to the crook of her arm. "A princess requires a knight."

The pain only served to make the princess seethe.

"Guar—Mother, I don't think I heard you correctly."

Wintergeeen retreated, nearly lancing her _épée_ into the ground as she walked away and began dusting her hands. From the ground, Bonnibel saw she had made no lasting impression that there had ever even _been_ a duel between them. "Your father and I have decided to further our watch over the Candy Kingdom and its environs due to the current political climate—your safety, as always, remaining our first concern."

"Mother, I'm not a—a _guardian_?" she leapt to her feet, abjectly ignoring the pain singing from almost every part of her body. "There's no need to saddle me with some, some—some muscle-bound fruit with more pulp than common sense!"

The queen paused, turning her head ever so slightly to look back at Bonnibel. "Who said anything about the banana guard?"

The admittance caught Bonnibel off-guard—a running theme of the past forty-eight hours, it seemed. Wintergreen, looking more disinterested by the moment, only sighed and repeated herself. And then _explained_.

"You wouldn't—is that not _telegraphing_ the same weakness you want to avoid? "Glob! Am I the only candy in the kingdom left with a shred of logic in their think-pan?" Bonnibel asked, finding the plan ludicrous on every level. When her mother answered with silence, arms crossed beneath her breaths, she felt what little patience left within her ebb away completely. "Glob! Am I the only candy in the kingdom left with a shred of logic in their think-pan?"

"The runners asking for attendance to the peace summit left days ago," Wintergreen explained, calm as newly fallen snow, "This latest attack simply gave us, hm; let us call it _just cause_ in sending more behind them."

'_She planned this_.' It was the only explanation, though Bonnibel could not yet see the purpose for such subterfuge. "My safety is to be decided by a tourney of arms?"

The queen laughed softly, more a pleasant _hmph_ than anything else. "Your father's idea, not mine."

"But you retain the right to veto his decision—"Oh, of course. This is _so_ like you." Bonnibel thought aloud, mind racing at a thousand feet per second in an attempt to piece together what was _actually_ happening. There was no _just cause_ in demonstrating weakness—the term simply didn't exist in the vocabulary of her parents. They had been raised hard; hard and without years of almost-peace to civilize them.

It occurred to Bonnibel, however briefly, that her family too had carved their kingdom into the landscape of Ooo so many centuries ago.

"Your point?" the queen sat on one of the nearby benches, legs crossed and back ramrod straight. Gone was even the ghost of her smile, all pretense of filial bonding casually thrown out in favor of what she _really_ was—a warrior. "We no longer have the luxury to dally and await words of peace from beings too callous to understand the definition of the word; I'm sure even you may appreciate that."

"You mean _you've_ run out of ideas," Bonnibel snapped, well knowing she sounded the petulant child.

"I'll ignore that."

'_Of course you will_.' She turned on her heel and began to make her way toward the exit. "I believe we are done here for the day, _mother_," she said, barely capable of keeping the anger out of her voice. "You may inform Peppermint Butler that I will be taking the rest of my meals within my study for the duration of the day."

The queen bowed her head. "As you wish, my daughter," she replied, her tone even, neutral—guarded, Bonnibel thought, though her next words caused the princess to discard the notion entirely.

"The tourney will take place in two days, and will last until a champion emerges from those in attendance—" Wintergreen explained as Bonnibel made her way to the entrance of the garden, "I hope you will find peace of mind enough to attend before that time?"

The princess closed her eyes, counting backwards from five as the garden ran through the process of allowing her to leave. The slow, steady build-up of static noise accompanying her exit did little to curb her temper; less, even, did it do to curb her desire to scream.

"Bonnibel?" the queen asked, as the silence stretched between them.

"The command needn't be implicit," she finally answered, voice still and even: the perfect replica of her mother's tone. "I will do my duty to the kingdom—as always."

Though she could not see the candy, Bonnibel knew her mother was smiling.

"You will understand in time," she said, faux-saccharine. "Realize that we do this out of love, not anger."

'_Of course_.'

Bonnibel left the garden feeling more a pawn than a queen.


End file.
